


names we both have buried

by anamnesisUnending



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Alternate Universe - siblings???, Found Family, Gen, M/M, but in a literal blood-related way
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-16
Updated: 2018-11-16
Packaged: 2019-08-24 12:54:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16640516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anamnesisUnending/pseuds/anamnesisUnending
Summary: Once, Peter Nureyev had a family. Once, Sasha Wire had a brother and another name. Lost things are never found where you expect them to be.





	names we both have buried

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TackyJackie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TackyJackie/gifts).



> written for Jacqueline's incredible au idea <3

Juno should really know better by now, than to think he and Nureyev can ever have a quiet night at home. It’s not that they’ve never had one before, it’s just that usually the quiet nights come after a long day of working on a case, or being chased by mobsters, or breaking into buildings.  
All there was to do at the office today was file old paperwork and complain about whatever soap opera Rita currently had on, then come back to Juno’s apartment to make a nice, home cooked meal. Juno’s leaning against the counter, lazily prodding the stir fry on the stove, and Nureyev is sitting at the table, looking through messages from old contacts, job offers that Juno’s insisted he not tell him about. For once, it feels like nothing is going to go wrong today.

So when there’s an unexpected knock at their door, Juno can only think that he should have known better.

Sasha Wire stands in his doorway, looking as sharp as ever from the stern lines of her face to the crisp cut of her suit. “Hello, Juno,” she says, cold and curt.

Juno’s brow wrinkles in confusion, “Sasha? What are you—”

“I’m certain there’s a lot you have to catch me up on, but I’m afraid it’s going to have to wait. I’m not here for you.”

Juno looks back over his shoulder, to where Nureyev is standing in the kitchen, armed with the first blade he could get his hands on—a small, serrated steak knife. He looks almost serene, but the calm is carefully masked over a tension in every inch of his frame.

And then Sasha says the last thing Juno expects her to.

“Peter—” she stops short, but the effect is instant. Sasha, for once in her life, looks uncertain—utterly incapable of finding the right words to follow that. If she weren’t Sasha Wire, Juno would almost say she looks like she spoke before thinking.

And when he looks back to Nureyev, all his calm is shattered. He’s still, but now his shock is evident in his softly parted lips. It takes him a few long seconds more that it should to regain composure, but when he does, he just says, “Agent Wire.”

Sasha pulls the door shut behind her and pushes past Juno. “I’m not here on business,” she says. “As far as Dark Matters is concerned, Rex Glass is dead. I’m inclined to let them believe that. This is…” she stops for a moment. Tilts her chin up to take in Nureyev’s face, not quite meeting his eyes, and sets her shoulders. “Personal.”

“How so?” Nureyev asks, twirling the steak knife loosely, absently between his fingers.

“You’re Peter Nureyev,” Sasha says, at once a statement and a question.

“The very same,” he confirms.

“It has to be you,” Sasha says, almost to herself. “I— I’ve checked. Every census record, every legal document I could get my hands on, everything I could have Rita look into. There’s no other Peter Nureyev it could be. I—”

She starts over. “Juno and I grew up on Mars together. But, before that, my family was from the Outer Rim. My parents had three children: myself, and my younger siblings. Twins. My parents were dissidents against our planet’s government, they spoke out against the corrupt justice system. They had to flee the planet to avoid being imprisoned, or killed. Before we could leave, though, we lost my brother. He... was taken from us. We had no way to find him, no way to bring him with us, so we left the planet without him. We went to Mars, and to cover our tracks we changed our last name to Wire. Before that, it was…”

“No,” Nureyev says with quiet intensity. Then, harsher, “No, I’ve heard enough lies about my family to last a lifetime. I don’t need you adding more to the lot. I don’t know what you could possibly seek to gain from this, but you’ll have to find it another way.”

“Peter—” he still flinches at the sound of his first name spoken aloud “—I don’t _want_ anything from this. It’s foolish and unprofessional of me to even be here. Dark Matters is very clear about where “personal entanglements” should fall in my list of priorities, especially ones that would create such a conflict of interests as this, but— I _can’t._ I can’t know you’re alive and never tell you. I can’t just go on never acknowledging the fact that at least _one_ of the siblings I lost is still alive, and I… Even if you walk away from this, even if we never speak again, I thought you had to know.”

Nureyev stares numbly through Sasha. He walks to the table, numb. He pulls out a chair, numb. He sits down, stares down at his hands, and says, “So... our sister is dead? My… twin?”

Sasha sits down across from him, her movements smooth and formal. She nearly reaches across to take his hand, but thinks better of it. “She was eleven.”

“I’m sorry,” he says.

Juno is still standing at the doorway, watching them, and all he can feel is the raw horror that this man, this man he’d taken to bed, this man he’d loved, and hurt, and chased across the stars to plead his forgiveness. This man who’d given it with barely a second thought. This man was little Annie Wire’s twin brother. This man had suffered the same loss that Juno had, and he’d never even known it, and it was _Juno’s fault._

“I’ve had a long time to move on,” Sasha says, and tries to see the truth in it.

He wants to hold Nureyev, to comfort him, but he can’t bring himself to even touch him with his bloodied hands. But he tries to remember what Sasha said, that this isn’t about him. And as much as he wants to shut down and shut everyone out, as much as he thinks that being alone is what he deserves, he tries to remember that it has to be Nureyev’s choice. If he finds out and he wants nothing to do with Juno, well it’ll rip his heart out, but there’s nothing he can do about it. But if Juno pushes him away without an explanation, if he decides what’s best for him, just like he did in that hotel room…

He can’t hurt him like that again. So he makes a choice and he takes a step forward.

And then Sasha says, “Juno, I think your stir-fry is burning.”

_“Shit.”_ Juno turns away from the table, his resolve extinguished by the smoke from the frying pan gently permeating the air. He scoops the most salvageable contents of the pan into a serving bowl, throws open a window, and then tries to scrape the rest of the charred remains into the garbage.

“I… I think most of it’s okay?” he says, trying to reckon with the sheer absurdity of cooking at a time like this. “Sasha do you… want… any?”

“If I’m welcome to stay.”

Sasha and Juno both look to Nureyev. He looks up, in their silence, overwhelmed by the decision before him. He clears his throat. “Yes, I... think we have quite a bit to discuss.”

Juno sets about shoveling food onto plates for the three of them. He needs to haul in his desk chair from another room to give himself a place to sit, and he’s almost afraid to leave the other two alone for even that long, but they don’t speak, don’t even move, as he does. The quiet, the stillness only gets heavier as Juno returns and they sit down for dinner together. Nureyev picks at his food with no appetite and a detached expression. And yes, it’s a little burned, but Juno knows that’s not why he’s pushing it directionless around the plate, barely taking a bite. The real reason is Sasha. She doesn’t say anything, barely even looks up at him, but Juno doesn’t need to be able to read minds to see that hers is focused in like a laser on Nureyev. Juno knows how hard it is to think with someone else trying to drill holes into your skull, knows he’s going to have to be the one to break the silence.

So he does. “Hey, Sasha, listen,” he starts.

She looks up, dark eyes as cold and curious as ever.

“I just… I was thinking I should probably apologize for, you know. Last time we saw each other. You were right; it wasn’t about me. I shouldn’t have acted like it was.”

Sasha sets aside her fork, leans forward a bit. “Juno, are you alright?”

“What, something has to be wrong for me to apologize to an old friend?” Juno defends.

“Historically, yes.”

Juno sighs. “Yeah alright, that’s fair. There’s just... a lot that was on my mind that I hadn’t really dealt with. Annie, yeah, but also Ben, and... I shouldn’t have just taken it out on everybody else.”

The surprise on Sasha’s face is the most sincere expression he’s seen her direct at him in years. “And now?”

“I’m dealing,” he says, frustration bubbling up underneath his tone. He’s said as much as he wants to already, probably more, but if he knows Sasha she’s only going to keep pushing. “Walked out into the desert, made some new friends, got my eye ripped out, and took down a corrupt mayor. I’d like to say I learned a thing or two from all of that.”

To his relief, Sasha just raises an eyebrow.

Juno says, “It’s been a hell of a year.”

“So Mick’s said,” Sasha says. “I’m staying with him while I’m in town. Someday you’ll have to tell me how much of what he says is true.”

Juno snorts. “Knowing Mick? Probably about two words of it.”

“He wants to get the three of us together again,” Sasha says.

“Yeah, because that turned out so well last time.” Juno ignores the way Sasha scowls at that. “How long are you around for anyway? You sure that galaxy’s not gonna fall apart without you doing whatever it is Dark Matters has you doing?”

“I have the rest of the week off.”

“Took a whole week just for this little family reunion, huh? I mean, were you planning to take him on a picnic or something, or—”

“Juno.” Nureyev sets a hand over his. Probably for the best, really, that he say something before Juno gets carried away. “I think Agent Wire and I might prefer to have this discussion alone.”

“Right,” he says, looking down at his plate. “I’ll just... go to the office, then. See if I can… find something to do.”

He starts to stand up, but Nureyev’s hand clasps tighter around his own. “Would you stay here, actually?” he says.

Juno meets Nureyev’s eyes, deep and loving, and says, “Okay.”

He smiles, relieved, and goes to grab his coat from the hook by the door. “Will you wait up for me, dear? I don’t think this should take terribly long.”

“Yeah, sure,” Juno says. Nureyev returns to press a kiss to his lips, then picks a switchblade up off the table and checks to make sure Sasha is watching before he slips it into one of his pockets.

“Come along, Agent Wire.”

“To where, Peter?” she asks.

He pauses, still struck by the sound of his name, but he rallies quickly. “Hyperion is a big city. I’m certain we’ll find ourselves somewhere interesting before the night is up.”

Nureyev ushers Sasha through the door, and before he closes it he looks back at Juno, a soft, uncertain smile on his face.

Juno’s heart breaks at the sight of it.

***

Mars is cold this time of year. Possibly, Peter should have brought a scarf; he’s really not made for this sort of weather, even less so the dry wind that nips at every inch of exposed skin. Still, it’s that bite to the air that, even light years away and decades later, always reminds him of Brahma. There’s a bitterness to it, bitter memories of nights spent hiding in alleys with friends now long-dead. Family, he could call them; after all, they were all each other had. He wonders if Sasha’s memories of Brahma are of a different, warmer sort. He suspects they are, and tries not to envy her for that.

He’s not certain there’s much to envy by now, anyway. Sasha’s not the person he expected. There’s a certain type of person one has to be to get as far in Dark Matters as Sasha Wire has. Solitary, is the type. Solitary, cold, and brutal. Dark Matters doesn’t allow for close connections. It’s in the contracts you have to sign to get in, but it’s also ingrained into the lifestyle. Keeping secrets, never staying too long in one place, burning any trace of yourself you leave behind. Peter might never have really been a part of their organization, but he knows that life well. Knew it, until Juno. And yet when Sasha turned up at their door tonight, she didn’t seem like that kind of person, the kind to vanish from someone’s life for fifteen years without a care. The way she looked at Peter, the way she talked about Annie… she seemed terribly lonely.

Even more than the cold night air, that thought chills him to the bone. He thinks of them, the last two orphaned Nureyev children, linked by a name they’ve both abandoned, separated by years and divergent paths that put them forever at odds with one another. Each a perpetual reminder to the other of what could have been and never was.

Peter realizes they’ve circled the block aimlessly as he’s been thinking. Sasha hasn’t made a move to speak, or to direct them anywhere; she’s still waiting on him. It’s only fair. She’s already said her piece.

So the first thing that Peter says is this: “What _did_ you think would come of this? After all, as far as Dark Matters is concerned I’m a threat to your organization, and you to my livelihood. Does some arbitrary connection of blood really do anything to change that?”

“It shouldn’t,” Sasha says plainly.

It’s not the answer he wants. Not an answer at all, really. “But it does,” he says. Plainly, like her, but that doesn’t obscure that it’s the same question.

She nods.

“Whoever our sister was going to be, I’m not her. I can’t replace that for you,” he says.

“I know. I’m not asking you to,” she says.

“Your brother, then. That’s still a person I’ve not known how to be in a very long time.”

Instead of responding, Sasha asks, “Did you ever have a family on Brahma?”

Peter sees a room filled with red light. Shuts his eyes against it for a moment. “Something akin to that,” he says.

“Mag,” she guesses.

Peter just nods. “I killed him,” he says, voice hollow. Confessions, he thinks, get easier the more you give them. He’s lucky that the first time he told Juno, he hadn’t had to speak a word. “There was a story he used to tell me, about my father. Some tragic fairytale about a revolutionary martyred by the Guardian Angel System. I should have known better than to believe it, but it was all I had.”

Juno’s block is quiet enough that Sasha’s responding silence is unbearably heavy in the air between them. Without even meaning to, Peter sets their path towards somewhere else, in search of better memories than that one.

Peter could navigate the streets of Hyperion City blindfolded by now. It’s not the effortless familiarity someone has with their home. There’s only one place Peter’s ever developed that, and it’s long lost to him now. This is a practiced skill, rote memorization, like the floorplan of a building he’s been casing for months. Learning to look like you belong where you don’t. The difference is imperceptible to anyone else, even Sasha Wire, it seems, and that’s something Peter prides himself on, but it’s ever present for him, nagging at the back of his mind.

There’s something specific he’s looking for, on one street corner of a hundred crowded blocks in midtown Hyperion, one dingy food cart out of a million. He finds it within seconds. Doesn’t bother to stop as he walks by, just drops a fifty cred bill by the vendor’s tip jar while they’re calling out to other passers by, and from a basket hanging high on the cart he grabs as many plum rolls as he can fit in his hands and pockets them all. This catches the vendor’s attention again, and they call after him, “Come back here and pay for those!”

Peter keeps walking, turning only for a moment to gesture at the bill he left and reply in Brahmese, “Keep the change.”

Sasha eyes him suspiciously as he offers a roll, like she thinks this is some kind of test or challenge. When she doesn’t take it, Peter takes a bite. It’s just barely bordering on stale, almost like he remembers. He frowns slightly.

“You know, I’m not sure if they really tasted better stolen, or if nostalgia just makes me remember them being better than they actually were,” he says.

Sasha snorts, in a way that probably passes as a laugh for anyone that knows her. Arguably Peter doesn’t, but it makes him smile anyway. She takes the roll when he offers again.

“Dad used to make a spiced plum cake like this,” she says offhandedly.

Peter takes another bite, chews it thoughtfully. It’s such a simple thing, but still he has to wonder what it’s like, having family recipes, comfort foods made with the intention of comforting, rather than just pilfered favorites, discarded by restaurants and bakeries.

And another mention of them. Sasha’s parents, _his_ parents. He’d put so much stock in Mag’s stories that when they’d all turned false he found he couldn’t bring himself to replace them with anything else. Better to just accept that he was no one, that he came from nowhere, and that every lie he lived from then on would be one of his own composition.

It makes his blood runs cold, racing through his veins, though, the thought that he still hasn’t moved on, that somewhere in him is still the boy clinging to worthless stories, as if they’d make him something more than he is.

He feels terribly childish, but he can’t stop himself from asking. His voice is such a hatefully small thing, when he says it, echoing the child that put such blind faith in Mag. “What were they like?”

Sasha stops, in the middle of the sidewalk, parting the waves of people passing by them. She looks at him so strangely that he’s afraid he’ll have to ask again, to clarify his meaning. _“Were...?”_ she says, almost to herself. “Peter, they’re still alive.”

Peter freezes, and the world keeps moving around him.

_“...oh...”_

“I can bring you to meet them if you—” Sasha cuts off at the wide, frightened look in his eyes. “Peter?”

“I— I never thought—” The world keeps moving and it’s too much. There are words, a million words bubbling up to his lips, but none of them are given breath, and all he can do is stare at Sasha—and he can see it now, her face uncannily like his own—and feel his world shift. A city, dropping from the sky. A name no one should know, spoken aloud.

Sasha takes his hand and leads him off of the crowded street and into a dimly lit cafe. Sits him down at a table for two. It’s quieter in here, only murmurs of conversation and the gentle acoustic strains of a familiar song he doesn’t know.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize this would be so much to take in.”

Peter squeezes loosely at her hand. “I— Do they know about... me? About...” he’s grasping for the words but they won’t come to him.

“New Kinshasa,” Sasha finishes. “They know.”

“Perhaps not, then. Meeting them, I mean. I imagine they’re... Well, they must be horrified.”

She shakes her head, and keeps her voice low as she speaks. “Peter, they thought you were dead for almost sixteen years. When the news came in from Brahma, they cried, all of them, Mom, Dad, and Papa. Woke me up at 3am to see your face on the news stream on the tiny screen of Papa’s comms and hear the order for your arrest.

“Mom spent the next few days reaching out to old friends on Brahma, people we hadn’t heard from since we left years ago, telling us about the riots in the streets, and the celebrations, and not a single laser fired down from New Kinshasa. But by then no one knew where you’d gone, where to find you, and there was nothing we could do to help you find us, even if you’d wanted to. My parents agreed it was too dangerous to use the name Nureyev again.

“You should have heard the way they talked about you though. They were so proud. They played that news clip over and over again just to see your face. I graduated a few weeks later. Already had plans to join Dark Matters, but from then on I told them that if I had the chance, I’d look for you.”

She gives a sharp, mocking little laugh at herself, then. “And then Rex Glass shows up and I set him up with Juno Steel. And _he_ figures out who you are before I do.”

Peter laughs at that too, a hoarse croak. It’s then that he realizes how tightly he’s gripping Sasha’s hand, that there’s tears streaming down his face, that he’s utterly breathless and lost for words.

“They deserve to know,” Sasha says. “Even if you don’t want to meet them.”

Peter nods. “I’ll... think about it.” He turns to his face reflected in the window, tries to clean up the makeup smeared by his tears.

“Can I see your comms?” Sasha asks.

Peter hands it over unthinkingly, and Sasha starts typing with it. When she hands it back, there’s a new contact—Sasha Nureyev.

“Those are my personal comms coordinates. Dark Matters doesn’t know I have one. There are only three other people in the galaxy who have that number.”

“Our parents.”

Sasha nods. “You can call me when you decide.”

“Alright,” Peter says quietly.

They leave the cafe with two cups of tea, and make the long, quiet walk back to Juno’s apartment together. It’s a less tense quiet than before. They even make some effort to share a memory or two of Brahma, though Sasha’s are few and hazy, and Peter’s are heavy with hurt. But it’s easier to try to call back the past than it is to recognize the uncertainty of their present and future. They’ve an unspoken promise, Peter thinks, to face that challenge another day.

There’s an awkward pause, once they reach Juno’s apartment building.

“I suppose this is farewell, for now,” Peter says, his feet still rooted to the sidewalk.

“It was good to see you,” Sasha says. “I’m glad you’re doing well.”

“Yes, well, I’m lucky to have a lady like Juno waiting for me,” he says, then pauses. “I don’t suppose he should ask your blessing? After all, you were the one who sent me to his doorstep in the first place,” he teases.

She rolls her eyes. “You know usually I’d tell you to look after him, but it looks like he’s doing well for himself for once.”

Peter smiles.

Before she turns to go, Sasha takes a step closer, hesitating. Peter looks confused for a moment, and then she reaches forward and pulls him into a hug. He stumbles into it, almost bewildered, but soon drapes his arms uncertainly around her shoulders. Then, she reaches up to ruffle his elegantly slicked back hair, and he pulls back with an indignant noise, though not before his hair is pushed out of place.

_“Sasha,”_ he complains, struggling to fix the offending locks of hair.

Sasha grins. “Have a good night, Peter.” And with that she turns and leaves.

He watches her go, and distantly realizes that’s the first time he’s called her Sasha.

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't really plan on making this a long series but I have a couple more ideas of where to go with it, so expect an update sometime in the future?


End file.
